


Sunshine in Vermont

by chilly_flame



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilly_flame/pseuds/chilly_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started as an itunes fic, and it kept getting longer, so I just made it a little tiny story and decided to post. Obviously inspired by the latest happenings in New York, and maybe even a little bit by thelastgoodname ’s Woo, Lockyer, Priestly, Sachs, coincidentally posted two years ago yesterday. Oh, and the song was Moonlight in Vermont, by Gerry Mulligan & Chet Baker. Thanks Xander for the quick edit!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sunshine in Vermont

**Author's Note:**

> This started as an itunes fic, and it kept getting longer, so I just made it a little tiny story and decided to post. Obviously inspired by the latest happenings in New York, and maybe even a little bit by thelastgoodname ’s Woo, Lockyer, Priestly, Sachs, coincidentally posted two years ago yesterday. Oh, and the song was Moonlight in Vermont, by Gerry Mulligan & Chet Baker. Thanks Xander for the quick edit!

George isn’t uncomfortable driving lesbian couples around, generally. They tend to be nice, quiet, clean, and good tippers. Most of the time they insist on helping him with the bags.

This pair though… George is wondering if he made an error in judgment in accepting the job. It seemed like easy money. Drive them from Montpelier to Montreal—it’s only two and a half hours, and for six hundred bucks, it’s easy money. Especially in a hybrid. Besides, Vermont in October is really nice, with the leaves turning and light traffic mid-week.

But these two aren’t what he expected. At all.

He figured a couple of freshly-hitched dykes would show up on the steps of the county courthouse with some backpacks and a suitcase or two, looking kind of like each other and wearing Keens and cargo pants. He took a pair like that across to Saratoga Springs just last month, and it was nice. Peaceful. They asked for some Joni Mitchell, Bruce Springsteen and Lady Gaga to be played on the stereo as he drove. The first two he could abide, but the last was a little beyond his ken. There’s no accounting for taste.

But today… This pair doesn’t look at all like newlyweds. Instead, they’re arguing at the bottom of the few steps that lead down from the courthouse. These women don’t even look like they like each other, much less love. The young one is waving a piece of paper in the other one’s face, while the older one, with elegant hair and a crooked nose, doesn’t even look at her. George politely tunes them out, but hears words like “I can’t believe you forgot” and “I told you we needed both copies” and “are you sure you even want to get married?” as he arranges the Vuitton bags gently into the trunk. No one offers to help him this time. Then he hears the telltale sniffle. The young one is crying, and George wonders what they hell is going on.

Once in the car, there’s some fast, quiet talking, and George puts on the radio. He recognizes Chet Baker’s trumpet, and settles back, trying to ignore the argument. He’s successful until the young one’s sharp, clear voice rings out. “Miranda, if you didn’t want to do this, you just had to tell me. If you want to break up, there’s no need—“

The older one waves a hand—George sees it in the rear view mirror. “Stop it! I swear to you, I didn’t mean to forget, but I want to get married in New York!” she shouts. “It’s ridiculous to have to leave my own state. I deserve to get married where I live. I don’t know why you insisted on doing it now. It’s not like you’re pregnant.”

There’s a pointed silence. George waits.

The older one sniffs. “Are you?”

The young one laughs. Her name is Andy—she’s the one who hired him. “Why didn’t you tell me before then? I planned this whole trip and you didn’t even want to do it.”

“On occasion I try to give you what you want.” The older one, Miranda, looks out the window. “But sometimes my subconscious sabotages me. I got notarized copies from Leslie last week of both divorce decrees. I don’t know what happened to Stephen’s. I swear.” There’s an uncomfortable pause. “I’m not in the habit of agreeing to things I don’t want, Andrea. I just… It was very last minute. A courthouse is so… bland.”

“But you and Stephen—“

“I know, I know, we went to the courthouse. And Jeremy and I eloped to Spain. Because I didn’t want to have a wedding. I was busy and I didn’t have time to waste with all of the details.” George is gripped by the conversation. So much for not paying attention. “I want to now. I want a real wedding. Invite people. Wear a dress, and sign the papers in front of all our friends.” The young one looks shocked. “It’s not really me, is it,” Miranda says softly. “I want to marry you, to say the words out loud for everyone to hear. Because I do love you. Besides, this wedding is the last one I’ll ever have, so I want it to be a good one.”

George has trouble keeping his eyes on the road, but he manages to catch a glimpse of Andy’s surprised expression. At least a minute passes before she replies, “You are the least romantic person on the planet, Miranda, but every once in a while, you really knock one out of the park.”

A couple of minutes later, George is wishing he had one of those cars with a privacy screen. He watches the fall foliage for a while as they make out, and he coughs once when he hears one of them moan. After that they seem to slow down, but they’re still right up against each other.

“We’ll get married in New York,” the younger one finally says. “I can wait.”

The older one, who doesn’t seem as old now as she did when they first got in the car, replies, “It won’t be long now, darling. Mark my words. We’ll be married before the year is out.”


End file.
